


Cancer

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Porn, Crossdressing, Dom/sub, Feminization, Half-Sibling Incest, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Pregnancy Kink, Role Reversal, Rough Sex, Wall Sex, imagined Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 10:16:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18118784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: Neither Jon nor Robb will ever be what they want to, but Robb will let Jon treat him as such, anyway.





	Cancer

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt I got on tumblr, which asked for Jon/Robb or Theon/Robb with feminisation and/or pregnancy kink.

It is a way out of the world.

That is one way of thinking about it, Jon Snow tells himself, slamming his half-brother up against the castle wall and listening to him gasp in need. Robb moans and throws his head back, baring his throat utterly vulnerable, legs spread as wide as he can make them and playing the role he needs.

Skirts don't really suit Robb; he has big blue eyes and full red lips, but still, he'd never pass for a girl – he has far too much hair, and even when he shaves a shadow grows around his chin, grazing against Jon's jaw. He gropes Robb through his underclothes and feels the thick ginger bush there, but it doesn't matter, when Robb keens to his grasp and offers himself willingly as any whore he could have bought himself.

He still doesn't even know where Robb gets the dresses – they're not Lady Catelyn's, he's sure; they're much too plain for that. They're probably just borrowed off the servant girls, for whom it's not worth it to ask too many questions, and that makes Jon dig his teeth into the side of Robb's neck, earning a pained whine. Perhaps he's trying to avoid the thought he'd like that, fucking Robb in his mother's clothing, but that's...

Jon groans as Robb's skirts rub against his skin, the cloth rough, hessian, and before long he's pulling his breeches down around his knees, letting Robb feel his cock, red and heavy, pulse against his skin. “You like that?” he whispers. Robb is bigger than him, in that respect and every other – when he looks, he sees Robb's big, beautiful cock that any maid would kill to have inside her, but that isn't what Robb wants. It's never what Robb wants.

In so many ways, Robb is perfectly made – a beautiful young man with a thick beard, large muscles and huge cock; all the girls want him, Jon knows that. He was built to be the wolf, siring his cubs on any bitch he can find. And yet, all he wants is to be Jon's bitch instead. He doesn't know why.

He grabs the oil from Robb's pockets, because Robb is still much braver than him – brave enough to steal something without fear of being punished for it. “Tell me what you want,” he says, covering his fingers in the warm liquid – tracing patterns up Robb's thigh. “Tell me who you are.”

Robb lets out a needy cry, biting on his lip just in case the whole castle hears. “Fuck me,” he gasps, chest heaving as he pulls his skirt higher around his waist, like any slut ready to let the lord of the manor have his way with her. “Put your cock in me. Fill me with come...”

_What a desperate whore,_ thinks Jon bitterly, guiltily, as he tosses the underthings out of the way and shoves two fingers deep into Robb's hole. He bites his lip, smothers a cry, but he doesn't protest, not at all. No, the harder Jon's fingers thrust inside him the more he keens toward it – this is what he wants, craves, needs; and he does not believe he deserves kindness or softness at all.

Jon swallows the anxious lump in his throat, the one that tells him this is still his brother, half-brother, Father's firstborn son, the heir to Winterfell. “Pretty girl,” he says as he adds a third finger, because after all, that's not what Robb wants. Not from him, anyway. He wants to be a willing bitch, crying and coming as his bastard brother fills him with cock.

Robb trusts him, that's the thing, that's why his legs spread so easily against the castle wall, embracing the heat that runs through it, matching Jon's speeding pulse. It is _wrong_ , what they do, even more than your bog standard buggery – they're brothers, for the gods' sake – but who else could Robb trust to do this to him, who else does he love enough for that?

Jon takes himself in hand and forces his prick into Robb's tight hole, feeling teeth bite down on his shoulder at the intrusion. Fingers clutch at his back and try to pull him closer, and Jon obliges, burying himself down to his balls. Robb wants this. Craves this. What is Jon to do but give it to him?

He forms a hurried pace, afraid he'll spill within seconds, and so trying to give Robb as much as he can in the time he has. With one hand, he finds Robb's red curls and tugs on them, hard, making him moan into his ear with fury. Jon will give him what he wants. Jon will always give him what he wants.

“Robb?” he asks, his voice sounding a million miles away, someone else's entirely. “What a pretty hole. Look at you, spreading your legs for me.” He takes Robb's prick in hand and wanks him thoroughly. Robb is trembling as he pushes himself onto Jon's cock. “You love this, don't you? You want...”

And he whimpers, knowing exactly what Jon's going to say. “Tell me,” he gasps, his cock twitching in Jon's hand. “Tell me, Jon, please.”

Jon groans obscenely. In the end, he always does what Robb wants of him. “Pretty girl,” he gasps, forcing himself to keep fucking into Robb's hole. He's not big enough to really slam Robb up against the wall like he's sure Robb craves, but Robb keeps himself pinned there, opening himself up as much as he can. “That pretty little cunt of yours,” he says, and rubs two fingers along the edge. “You want cock, don't you? Want your hole filled?”

Robb nods, eyes closed, somewhere out of his mind, and Jon grunts as the shivers run down his spine. _He wants me. He wants me to give him something..._

“You want my come in there, don't you?” he spits out, and Rob gasps at him. “Of course you do. Doesn't matter to you, what happens next, does it whore? Doesn't matter if you end up full of more bastards than you can put a name to? Of course not. All you want is seed dripping down your legs, claiming you...”

Robb lets out a throaty noise and buries his face in Jon's shoulder, rubbing his cock against Jon's belly. Of course, Jon can't actually do that to him – and that makes it safe to indulge the fantasy. He can fill Robb with as much come as he wants, and never run the risk of actually getting a child on him.

But that doesn't mean he doesn't want to. Jon moans as his cock throbs deep inside his trueborn brother's arse. Oh gods, he wants to. He wants to sow his seed in Robb's body. He wants to watch his belly swell. He wants to see it become oh so obvious to everybody what's going on. He wants to see Robb _disgraced_.

It's a terrible thought, but one that makes Jon plunge deeper into Robb's arse in need, knowing he can't keep it up much longer. The thing is, he'd love that. He'd love Robb to be his whore, birthing bastard after bastard for him, no heir of Winterfell but just the slut who mothers Ned Stark's first son's children. Maybe, if he fucked Robb hard enough, he'd get enough Stark blood into him to create a real heir...

And he thinks Robb would love it too. He's always hated being the heir to Winterfell, who all the realm depends on. He loves his family, but he hates what he has to be to his family. Jon was right when he thought about Lady Catelyn, because Robb would much rather be her – the one who's job it is to stand by her lord's side, to have his babies, but not to rule in his own right. He would rather it be his job to get fucked, again and again and again, his belly and his arse both full, as it always should be...

Jon spills deep in Robb's arse without warning, grabbing him by his thick, square shoulders. He wants to leave marks on Robb, even subtle ones. Robb's hole clenches hard at the feel of come spreading inside him, and he spends too, making a mess across Jon's lower belly. Jon looks down at the jerkin he didn't bother to remove, knowing he'll have to clean himself off before he leaves. He can't complain though. It feels petty, when Robb just let him use him like the cheapest whore at the Winter Town brothel.

After a few moments panting, their eyes meet again, and Jon leans in to rest his brow against Robb's. They could kiss, but they're not going to – Jon knows they are both utterly damned, two brothers fucking, but they pretend they aren't whenever the moment itself passes. Even when they're still covered in each other's come, they act like it's all innocent.

Robb bites his lip, torn in two. His hole is stretched and wet when Jon pulls out of it, and Jon knows what he wants. He wants to pull Jon closer, into bed, to hold him like a lover, to be the fair maiden deflowered whose suitor will tell her how much he loves her and how much he wants to marry her after – even if he's lying. But also, he wants to push Jon away, to stop himself from doing this, to make himself a man again – to be Ned Stark's firstborn son, as he was born to be.

Ultimately, it's Jon who has to make the decision – he has to take care of Robb, which isn't fair, but he doesn't know how to stop himself. He presses a soft kiss to his noble brother's brow. It could be chaste, but it isn't. “I ought to go,” he whispers. “If your parents find us...”

And Robb nods, relieved for the excuse – Jon thinks so, anyway. “Of course.” He pulls his skirt down around his waist, looking half a joke, but also, happier than Jon usually sees him anyway.

He takes a step back and sighs, wiping the come off his belly and onto the furs on Robb's bed. Hopefully, it's dark enough that will do. “Jon?”

Jon looks up. Robb stares at him, with an expression he can't quite put words to – part hopeful, part guilty, part aching. “Thank you,” he says.

This is the best they will ever do, Jon realises. Robb will never be what he wants to be, and Jon will never be what he wants to be to Robb. Neither of them was born for that. But it doesn't matter, so long as nobody knows that's what they want at all.

He nods, and walks out with stains on him. He might dream of making Robb carry his bastard, but it is Robb who's left something growing in him.

 


End file.
